


We take comfort in Chaos

by ophelia_hamlet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Meeting, F/M, Genderbending, John is Joanna, MI6, Mycroft's Meddling, Paris - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-03 00:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1725284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ophelia_hamlet/pseuds/ophelia_hamlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When the army referred her to a psychiatrist, she gave them the two fingers. A week later, a woman named Anthea (not her real name) asked her if she was interested in joining MI-6. The two fingers became a handshake. "<br/>An alternate meeting of Sherlock Holmes and his future blogger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the wonderful EloiseAtThePlaza ( aka mollyandherjumper on Tumblr) for being my beta.  
> Also, this work is not related to my first fic The Heart of the Game, where John is Jane Watson (and not Joanna). Comments are love.

 

 Prologue:

 

During her university years Joanna had not been able to form a lasting bond with other women in her promotion. Not that she was in any way disagreeable to them or that they were distrustful of her, it just seemed pointless of her to seek the friendship of women with whom she had no common area of interest (except the one of medicine).

Joanna wasn’t born yesterday. She knew that at least a quarter of them wouldn’t last two years in medical school, either due to a lack of interest or a lack of skills. Some of them were just sitting on the same bench as her in order to seek a suitable husband for their rather expensive tastes. The last three quarter of them, which amounted to ten young women in a class of 60, and who were all amicable when she happened to talk with them, had formed tight groups of four and six, into which Joanna felt she didn’t belong.

The four girls in the first group were all from wealthy families with a long line of eminent doctors and scholars before them and were here to uphold the family reputation and continue a centennial tradition. They were very studious, if a bit snob, but not harmful in the least.

The last remaining six were also studious but far too interested in partying in every club of the city to really hold Joanna’s interest for more than five minutes. One of them had been caught in the act in the utility cupboard with a resident during third year. She had smiled at that, thinking her sister Harry would probably have done the same.

Harry had a knack for making friends (although retaining them was another story). She was the kind of girl who could talk her way into and out of every situation, which was probably the reason she chose to read law and why she excelled at it when she wasn’t looking at the bottom of a vodka bottle. During Joanna’s fifth year, Harry had declared over the phone her undying love for Clara, another student of her promotion, and finally understood their mother’s obsession with finding “The One”. Harry and Joanna had laughed quite a few times about it but never really cared for any kind of romantic pursuit. Harry was into one night stands and Joanna was into studies. If Joanna was honest with herself, she was a bit jealous of her sister’s newfound happiness but overall, she didn’t really believe ~~d~~ in the idea of love.

Her incapacity inability to bond with other females had always been an issue but her refusal to consider any man as a potential boyfriend had been more than problematic. She was worried that it would stop her from fulfilling her goals, just like her mother before her. Lilian, Harry and Joanna’s mother, met their father when she was 22 and became pregnant three months later. They married before Jo’s arrival and Lilian became a housewife while her new husband, a hot shot trader from the City, was constantly away on business. Until one day when they received a phone call from his assistant, announcing that Mr. Watson had succumbed to a heart attack. Their new financial situation forced Joanna to rethink her studies while their mother unsuccessfully tried to find a job after more than twenty years away from the job market.

Her search was abruptly stopped six month later when she was hit by a car driving on the wrong side the road.

After the funerals, Joanna knew she didn’t have a choice anymore. There was only enough money left for one of the sisters to continue her studies. So Joanna enrolled in the army which was always seeking promising medical students and paid for her studies in exchange to allegiance to Queen and Country. Harry continued her studies at Kings.

When Joanna joined the RAMC, she thanked her lucky stars she was the one born with the boyish genes rather than her sister. She pulled herself through medical school, trained with flying colors and landed in the arid desert of Nigeria at 26. A few years later, Blair declared war on Afghanistan and Joanna got shot while trying to save the life of a young boy severely injured in the blast of an explosion. When she came back to London, a lot had changed in her life. She was 34, without employment or home, her sister had separated from Clara because of her drinking and she had a psychosomatic limp to go with the hole in her shoulder. Captain Joanna Watson was only the shell of her former self and she had absolutely no fucking idea how she got there. When the army referred her to a psychiatrist, she gave them the two fingers. A week later, a woman named Anthea (not her real name) asked her if she was interested in joining MI-6. The two fingers became a handshake. What the woman in the Chanel dress didn’t mention was into which capacity she would serve. Three days later, she came to the conclusion that Sherlock Holmes was a mad wanker whom she would follow to ends of the earth.


	2. The man in the picture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the amazing oleanderhoney ( who writes the most amazing genderbent!Watson, go check it out !) for being my beta on this chapter. You're a goddess.

One: The man in the picture

 

“I accept chaos, I'm not sure whether it accepts me.”

― Bob Dylan

 

Anthea tapped her fingers against her small notebook, her mouth slightly pursed and her eyes focused on a door refusing to open. Seated near the door in question, she checked the clock on her new blackberry for the fourth time: 4:05. A sigh of annoyance mixed with boredom escaped her. They had been in there for ten minutes now. Surely it didn’t take so long to assign a mission to a retired soldier. Her fingers stopped tapping. She took a deep breath and started counting the tiles on the floor below her. 586 tiles, all of them were accounted for. She glanced at her blackberry again: 4:11. Definitely a Beta One situation. If it continued for two more minutes, she would then be able to assert an Alpha Three situation.  

During her hours of freedom, as Mr. Holmes called them, she once drew a comparative diagram of the time of a meeting and the gravity of a situation. A diagram he knew immediately about, and requested to see. “How accurate. Do you mean I am getting predictable ?” she answered silently as it was her manner and opened the door of the car for him.

Once inside, he added: “We should really find you a hobby, my dear. I’m afraid you do not quite grasp the meaning of ‘leisure’.” The next day she was forcibly enrolled in an origami class and with less than three different sheets of paper, reproduced with wonderful detail the Walther P99 she had in her Lancel bag. She was asked not to come back, and Mycroft Holmes never mentioned the word ‘leisure’ again. She took it as a personal victory.

4:12, the door opens. Not an Alpha Three situation then.

 

****

Outside of the building, the air entered Joanna’s lungs more easily, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders as she took a few steps in the street. Her heart rate slowed and as she distanced herself from the MI-6 blacksite, her clouded mind began to find its bearings. She declined the offer of a lift from the driver, and started walking with more purpose. London was still young from its cold and humid winter so she zipped up her jacket while pondering the offer she had just been made.

The idea of a covert operation just after her dismissal from the armed force was simply miraculous.

Of course she knew the MI-6 probably chose her very carefully, and the nameless man in the impeccable suit strongly implied that she had to thank him for this, but she couldn’t shake the idea that it was still too good to be true.

She had to be careful. You hear funny things when you’re in Karachi, sleeping between a Tunisian ex-sniper and the Blue Casks French liaison. The thought of her former sleeping arrangements made her thankful she forgot to tell her COs about her fluency in French.

 

One night, believing she passed out from exhaustion, the two other women conversed about a year old operation Captain Toussaint had been involved in when she was undercover in Syria. They spoke about the presence of British and Irish intelligentsia, and how they abandoned three of their agents in the middle of the desert after an Op involved in the dismantlement of an Al Qaeda cell had turned sour. She didn’t give any details but apparently, a rescue mission had found the operatives too late. Two of them had been burned alive, and the third was hanging inside one of the houses, a skull carved on his chest.

Joanna shivered from the memory and the cold. She knew the job she’d been given was less dangerous than a mission in Syria but still, she had to remember that the MI-6 was not infallible, and that nothing was ever written in stone, not even her. Certainly not her.

 

An unconscious gesture bore her hand to her shoulder. It didn’t hurt as much as it used to. The hole had cauterised very well, thanks to the Red Cross trauma surgeon who operated on her. Only her psychosomatic limp was a nuisance these days. The scene in the windowless office plays again in her head.

“ Sir, with all respect, I’m not sure I am the best qualified for this mission. I have a limp that’s not even supposed to be there, how do you want me to carry out a mission of surveillance when I can’t run more than a few seconds without my leg reminding me of an invisible wound ?”

His smile took her by surprise, and so did his answer. “ Doctor Watson, you are perfectly qualified for this task. As for your leg, I think your partner can carry out the most of the job without having you to run everywhere. Although, he _does_  like to run” If she knew him at all, she’d say the last sentence was almost fond.

The partner he mentioned was a young man of thirty four, a graduate chemist with a rather impressive intellect, and a flair for ‘detecting’ . He didn’t say more except that he needed to be kept at arm’s length from time to time, but nothing too taxing. And anyway, it was just for a few days. After that, she’d probably never see him again.  

She found herself in front of the National Theatre seated on one of the stone benches facing the river. Tomorrow, she would receive her instructions and meet her new colleague. For a few hours, she believed things were getting better.

 

****

 

Things were definitely not getting better. At all. After a relatively fine morning of experimenting on  tobacco ashes and Mendelssohn , a loud knock on Sherlock’s door disturbed the promise of a relatively interesting afternoon. Refusing to open to an unwelcome intruder, he continued to play, not acknowledging the quickening of the knock. A few seconds later, it stopped and blissful silence was restored. Then the door was kicked out of its frame and  flock of men in dark suits flooded his living room.

To say that Sherlock was not accustomed to be manhandled out of his apartment without a word of explanation was an understatement, although it was clear his nosy brother had a hand in his new found misfortune. After a few well-placed punches, and a well-deserved bloody nose for interrupting such a fine sonata, he was finally immobilized and shoved into a town car. The sight of his smug brother forever ruined the rest of his day. And his mother never understood why he despised him.

“ Ah brother, such a pleasure that you were able to join me for a ride.”

Mycroft taped on the glass panel separating them from the driver and the car began to move.

He should have seen it coming. Mycroft needed him for a mission and would probably use his current lodgings situation to blackmail him into doing it. The pompous bastard.

“ Let me out of the car, Mycroft. I am not one of your buffoons from MI-6, I will not be treated like a child. Get me back to my flat. I’m busy.”

“ Now, now, you are being entirely unreasonable. You know your building is to be demolished by the end of the week; it is not safe anymore. And concerning that monograph you’re writing, I am sure it can wait a few more days. After all, the world has survived millennia without a study of tobacco ashes, even a ground-breaking one. We will just have to hold our breath a bit longer.”

Sherlock glared at him.

“ Do not try to change the subject Mycroft. I know you’re responsible for that demolition. The sanitary authorities never cared for that building. It would have been perfectly safe for at least two more years. Five if the necessary modifications had been made. Where am I supposed to live now ?”

Sherlock regretted the question immediately. Already, a small smile was forming on his sibling’s face.

“ Well, you could always occupy the guest bedroom…”

“ Forget it Mycroft. I’d rather live in the street with the homeless than to live with you. Actually, I’ve already done it a few times. They’re far more civilized than you”

A small chuckle escaped Mycroft. Such resentment; it was really a waste. He could only imagine how a friendly relationship between them would beneficiate the nation. But then, one must do one’s best with the cards they’ve been given. He tried another approach.

“ I am sure your little homeless network is very efficient and that you chose them well. However, you need a place for your furniture, your pricy equipment, and your current experiments. You don’t have the means for another apartment in this area. Montague Street was the closest from the center that you could afford. Surely you don’t intend to take a flat in Hammersmith ?”

“ I will find something eventually. I am sure I can call a few favors. I could get a flatmate.”

Mycroft laughed at the idea. “ You ? A flatmate ? Who would want to have you in their flat more than ten minutes ? Don’t be ridiculous, you’ll be far better off at my flat in Lyall Street.”

Sherlock scowled but said nothing more. He knew his brother was right but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him. Instead he asked :

“ Where are we going ?”

“ We are going to St Pancras International where you will meet one of my operatives and you’ll go to Paris together. There is a small matter I want you to handle and I want it to be dealt with discreetly. It’s about Leonard Trefusis. He’s been spotted in Lyons and will likely be in Paris when you arrive. I want to know why he came out of hiding. I assume you’ve heard of him.”

He hands him the files from the MI-6 and the French Sûreté. A few pictures showed the man leaving a building in rue Garibaldi, and then boarding a train. Sherlock looked at them quickly before reading about his last movements.

“He had surgery. His nose is less prominent than before, and he has lost at least forty pounds. What was he doing in Lyons ? Also his going to Paris doesn’t make sense. Surely if he wants to restart his drug trafficking, Marseilles is more well-provided than Paris.”

“My thoughts exactly. However, he hasn’t been in contact with any of his former contacts. We were extremely lucky to spot him when we did. One of our agents recognized his signet ring from a video footage in one of the banks we are watching. He is taking great risks by coming out of hiding. His rivals are still after him, and that’s nothing compared to the international mandate of arrests against him. But I don’t want to act too soon. If he is involved in a new business, I want to know what it is. And if I do remember well, the Heroin he imported was involved in dozens of suspicious overdoses in London and a few other cities, was it not ?”

“Hmm… In some cases the deaths should not have occurred. At least three of the London victims were Coke addicts and never touched a syringe in their lives. Plus, there was that border officer with the shady bank accounts who didn’t carry any signs of previous substance abuse. I think Trefusis used his drugs for more than one purpose, but I still can’t link the victims together. Some of them didn’t even have any link with Trefusis, even remotely. I need more data. Where was he before Lyons ? Czech Republic ? Romania ?”

“ We don’t know yet. The information got to us a week ago during which we had him followed in Lyons. We searched his hotel room after he left, but there was nothing to help our investigation. We are in contact with Interpol but nothing so far. So you understand why I need your expertise.”

Sherlock stayed silent for a moment. He didn’t like to be at the beck-and-call of his brother but that case was still nagging him, and he despised leaving a case unsolved. Also, it would provide a welcome distraction from the boredom of the few last weeks. He expected Lestrade to hold off his cases since he told him about his wife infidelity. Childish.

“ I’ll agree to the case on two conditions. One : you will provide me with a flat in Central London after the case is over but not yours. I’ll move out as soon as I find a more suitable accommodation.”

“Done. And the second one ?”

“ I don’t want a babysitter. Call off your agent. He’ll only slow me down and I work better alone.”

Mycroft sighed. He already felt sorry for the poor Doctor Watson.

“ Not an option Sherlock. You will go with someone or you won’t. And don’t think I won’t put you on the no travel list if you refuse. I specially handpicked this agent for you. Doctor Watson should not be a nuisance, I can assure you.”

“ A doctor ? You really think me so unworthy of your trust that you put me with a doctor ? I am not into drugs anymore Mycroft. I can look after myself.”

“Let me doubt that. Anyway, that’s not the reason I chose Doctor Watson. She happens to be fluent in French and her military record is spotless. She will be very good for this operation and maybe, have some good influence on you. We’re here. She’ll be seated next to you. You’ll have all the journey to get to know each other. Please try not to be reckless. Mummy’s heart would not suffer another blow. And it would be very inconvenient to have you repatriated in a box.”

“So much for your vote of confidence. Don’t worry brother, Mummy shall never know you like to send your younger sibling after dangerous criminals. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a train to catch.”

“ You’ll find a suitcase waiting for you at Gare du Nord left baggages office under the name Sigerson Mortimer. Your travelling companion will be Alana Mortimer, and will play the role of your unmarried sister with whom you often travel. The rest of the information concerning your cover and the mission are in this briefcase. You know what to do with it once you’ve read its content. Please be careful. I mean it, Sherlock. I can’t protect you once you’re past the border.”

Sherlock took the briefcase and the train ticket from his brother.

“ If I didn’t know you, I’d say you were concerned.” He grinned a false smile and stepped out of the car which had come to a stop a few moments ago. Before closing the car door he added :

“ I’ll contact you when I’m settled.”  

And he walked away towards the entrance of the train station. He had a drug lord to stop.

 

****

 

Joanna found the tickets for Paris on her desk when she got back from her meeting with MI-6. Of-fucking-coursethey couldn’t just leave it in her mailbox, they had to prove they could break into her apartment first. She pondered whether they knew about her speaking French and decided that they probably did, given the specifics of the mission. Well, it wasn’t really a secret in the first place. However, the myth of privacy was slowly crumbling down, and she preferred not to give it too much thought. Ignorance is bliss, isn’t it ?

The departure from St Pancras International was at 1PM sharp and she had to be there 30 minutes before boarding. A fake ID was also in the brown envelope. “Alana Mortimer. I can live with that.”

 

A picture of a man completed the folder. Tall, dark curls, and pale complexion, he was the epitome of the Byronic figure. He must be popular with the ladies. Behind it was written “Sigerson Mortimer, brother of Alana Mortimer, 34.” He didn’t seem too bad. A bit broody but then, he was secret service, wasn’t he ? It must go with the James Bond act. She packed the few civilian clothes she had in her wardrobe. She regretted she could not cross the border without her gun. She would feel a lot safer with her semi-automatic Browning. Maybe they didn’t allow new agents on surveillance mission to carry a weapon. She still took her Swiss knife her sister had given her.  Better safe than sorry.

That night, the bad dreams hadn’t been too violent and she was able to get her four hours of sleep. After making her bed and taking her morning coffee, she headed for the small bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, cleaned and ready for the day, she called her sister and left a message telling her she’d be out of town for the next few days visiting a friend. Her mobile was still on in case she needed anything. The thought of leaving Harry alone in London was not a happy one, but she needed the money, and quite frankly, the distraction. And she really wanted to see Paris again, even if it was just for work.

She arrived at the train station an hour before boarding and bought a ham sandwich as well as The Guardian. Reading the papers was her way of catching up with the world. You don’t really have time to stay in touch with international news when you’re fighting for Queen and Country, and the high ups don’t appreciate opinionated subalterns, so they try not to give them too much opportunity to read about what they’re doing. Which told more about the war they were fighting than any article would ever do. Nevertheless, she knew it wasn’t her place to judge. History books would probably do the job for her.

The call for boarding echoed in the waiting area, and she made her way to the platform, her little wheeled suitcase in one hand and her ticket in the other one. She was in business class, which made for a very nice change indeed, and found her place near the window. She was one of the firsts in the wagon. No sign of her partner just yet. She was getting anxious to meet the man in the picture. Armed forces teach you how to be a unit but not a partner, and she never did very well with strangers. She just hoped he was a team player.

She heard something ruffling beside her and there he was, the man in the picture, sitting just next to her :

“I’m Sigerson Mortimer. You must be my sister.”

 


	3. Strangers on a train

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter yeah ! I hope to publish one every week so keep an eye out :)
> 
> Oleanderhoney is again my lovely beta ( Youhou ! ). 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one ;)

Two : Strangers in a train

 

“Chaos and destruction do tend to take away a person's dating possibilities.”

― Veronica Roth, Allegiant

 

Sherlock was not pleased to leave London without asserting the safety of his possessions. He didn’t have much nor did he care much for material things, and he never encumbered himself with useless junk. Everything in his flat was vital for The Work. He knew Mycroft would take care of it for him but he didn’t trust his underlings to handle the task properly. He was only left to hope that he wouldn’t have too much to replace once his assignment was over. He should also begin to think about his next move on the subject of his lodgings. Mycroft laughed at his suggestion of having a flatmate but the idea remained a sound one. Surely he could find a reasonable man in London who didn’t care much for a lack of cordiality between tenants. Or a messy kitchen. Or violin at odd hours. He’d advertise after finding an acceptable flat in Central London.

The boarding had already started when he passed the controls at the border. The words of his brother echoed in his head. “ I can’t protect you once you’re past the border.” Well, he’d do without him. It wasn’t the first time he couldn’t rely on the British Government. Nor would it be the last. He scowled at the business class seat. Not the most inconspicuous way to travel, even though he was thankful for the comfort and the lack of noise.

He approached his seat and took in the new addition to his “family”. Short blonde hair, just below the ear, blue eyes and small stature. Right handed, accustomed to semi-automatic 9mm, probably a Browning, a favorite in the RAMC. The rings beneath her eyes tell stories about nightmares and shouts in the dark. The walking stick is self-explanatory, although he senses an anomaly concerning her limp. He’d have to wait to see her walk. The tan on her face and below her wrists show a recent dismissal from Middle East. She’s been shot, somewhere on the left side of her chest but he cannot deduce where exactly.

He gets out of his Belstaff and sits beside her. She looks at him, recognition illuminating her features.

“ I am Sigerson Mortimer. You must be my sister.” He extends a hand that she shakes.

“ Yes, I am Alana. Good to meet you. I was wondering whether you’d meet me here or at the Paris train station.”

Her voice is rougher than most. She’s used to shouting but her throat has suffered from the harsh treatment and the climate of the desert.

“ I just received the specifics of the assignment. I suppose you have a fair idea of what is expected from us, don’t you ?”

She hesitates. She’s not used to this type of situation. Was that what Mycroft meant when he said he handpicked her for him ? Her military training makes her experienced in some useful areas, but it also means that she’s still quite new to the spying exercise. He’s not sure what Mycroft was thinking.

“ It’s a surveillance mission of an influential drug lord who has recently been spotted in France after years of inactivity. They want us to find out why he’s resurfaced and if he is planning to restart his business. That’s all I know along with his name, Leonard Trefusis. That is, if it’s his real name.” 

His brother’s agent didn’t know much but she knew enough. She didn’t seem to be withholding any kind of information either. He places the briefcase on the tray in front of him and opens it after checking no one was watching.

“ This is the complementary information of the surveillance mission.”

Inside the briefcase were pieces of intel Mycroft had gathered from Trefusis whereabouts in Paris, and some data on the people he’d been sighted with over the last few days. Nothing really ground-breaking or telling about the drug lord activities in Paris. The timeline of his arrival in Paris until two days ago wasn’t extremely specific either. The French Sûreté had lost him a few times near the motorway (amateurs) but fortunately, they knew where he was staying so that they always found him again each time he got back from his suspicious meetings outside of Paris. He was currently staying at a little hotel belonging to a former contact of his, near Pigalle. Joanna let out an exasperated sigh at that information. The area was famous for its sex-shops and hookers at night.

Not exactly the most welcoming neighborhood, except for men leading a certain lifestyle.

They also found an envelope full of bank notes ( at least a thousand euros) and a hotel reservation for an establishment in the Abbesses ---  just near Pigalle then, but much nicer and far more accommodating for the tourists they were supposed to play. At least Joanna would see Montmartre before returning to London. A couple of metro tickets accompanied a plan of the city with the metro lines. Joanna hardly needed it and Sherlock just took a look at it before discarding it. He could always delete it later if he needed space.

After assuring themselves that they had looked at everything the briefcase contained, Sherlock closes it and puts it beneath his seat before turning to his new partner.

“ We need to discuss our cover. I don’t think we will need something extremely elaborate but it’s better if we know what to tell about ourselves if we get questioned.  Our parents are Lilian and John Mortimer, both alive and well in Devon, where we were born. We do not have any other siblings or relatives apart from our parents. We travel a lot together and have seen most of Europe together. We never went to Asia nor Africa because we’re lambda tourists who do not trust foreign continents where people don’t speak English. I am a high school teacher of chemistry and you are a GP. We are both romantically unattached which is why we travel together. As for your limp, you missed a step in the stairs a few days ago and you have to walk with a stick for the next week or so.”

He stops for a second, and adds:

“ I also think we should not know anything about each other. I don’t want any of us to get mixed up with the other’s real story and when I say the other, I mean you. Sad backstories are not really my area.”

“ Charming. Are you always such an asshole or am I not allowed to ask ?”

A flash of amusement softens his features. At least she wasn’t passive, she might just be useful.

“You’ll find out soon enough I suppose. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to inspect the wagons to make sure the British government hasn’t sent more goons to make sure the job gets done.”

Well, thinks Joanna, that was interesting to say the least. Tall, dark, and over-controlling was going to be a party to work with. She just hopes it wasn’t going to take too long to get the information they needed. Taking the suitcase with her, she gets up and goes towards the wagon restaurant to get herself a sandwich. She also buys one for him. He might be a pain in the neck but he was far too skinny for her liking. And he was also her brother, for the time being.

She gets back to her seat before he does despite the queue at the wagon. She wasn’t sure whether or not  he was joking about checking for other operatives and chose not to pursue the matter when he gets back next to her. He certainly doesn’t say anything about it either. Perhaps he was joking… she lets out a breath at her own inexperience. She already felt that she wasn’t cut out for this type of operation, and she entertains the idea of backing out now before it was too late for a few moments before the voice of Sigerson resonates beside her.

“ Don’t think so loudly, it’s unsettling. And if you’re having doubts, then maybe you should take the next train home. I am more than capable of seeing through this mission alone. Don’t worry, I won’t judge you for your lack of confidence. You’re only human.”

His eyes were closed and Joanna regrets that her seating position was preventing her from punching him.

“ No thank you. I don’t see why you should multitask on my behalf. After all, you’re only a man.”

This time, she is rewarded with a low chuckle.

“ Hm.. the bravery of the soldier. Loyalty, too. I just hope you’re not as unimaginative as the rest of your fellow comrades.”

She turns her head : “ How do you know I’m a soldier ?”

“Please, ask me what about you doesn’t scream that you’re a soldier. The tan, the unattractive haircut, the bullet hole of your left side, and the way you stand are as telling as a uniform right now. I could also go one about your limp or the way you keep checking for a weapon that isn’t there. Missing your Walther P99, are we ?”

“ Actually, it’s a semi-automatic Browning and wow, that was impressive. No wonder you’re so full of yourself.”

He mutters an “always something” she almost misses before being greeted by silence. A minute later, he asks:

“ Did you really think that was… impressive ?”

She almost checks if she was still sitting next the same man who insulted her haircut a few moments ago ( she was growing it out for heaven’s sake). He seems shyer and less certain of himself, as if he were asking permission for something.

“ Yes, quite. He did say you had a flair for detecting, but I didn’t expect that. You have a gift.”

He looks at her, an expression of loss painted his features. God, he shouldn’t be allowed to look so young. His eyes revert to the seat in front of him.

“I ..um.. thank you. People usually don’t say that.”

This, she can believe.

“Well, it was. I’m not in the habit of telling lies. Even to a self-important git. And you’re welcome.”

They spent the rest of the journey in companionable silence and Joanna got the impression that she had somehow scored a few points with Sigerson, which, she guessed, was not something easy to do.

She tried to sleep before their arrival in Paris but the excitement of the day, and of what was to follow, prevented her from closing her eyes more than ten minutes. Her neighbor spent the rest of the journey in deep meditation, ignoring the sandwich she had purchased for him.

One hour later, a female voice announced both in French and English their approach to Gare du Nord. Sigerson took the briefcase while Joanna was trying to balance herself between her walking stick and her rolling suitcase. She mentally cursed at her limp as she pained to catch up to the fast strides of her travelling companion. She also noted that she should really start referring to him as his brother, even mentally.

She waited for him while he was retrieving his own suitcase from the left-baggage office. She wondered on why he didn’t pack his bag before going but didn’t ask directly. They took a cab to the hotel after Sigerson argued that the metro would only slow them down and that they needed to get on the case as soon as possible. Joanna agreed and asked the driver to get them to rue Yvonne Le Tac. The ride didn’t take more than fifteen minutes, the circulation being relatively fluid.

At the hotel reception, the clerk gave them their key to the room 304 and wished them an agreeable stay in Paris. The room in question was small but tasteful with view on the street. There were two single beds, a television and a small wardrobe. The bathroom could not contain more than one person at a time which suited her very well.

Sigerson does not waste one minute once they get in and opens his suitcase, grabbing a small wallet and handing her a gun and a phone.

“ I think you should have this. I’m good with weapons but you’re probably the better shot. Don’t put it on you, leave it in the bag under a scarf. There is a first aid kit in this suitcase as well as two burner phones with two numbers on it. One is the other’s number and the second is in case we need help. I’ll put the first aid kit in the bathroom. Now, we’re going to Trefusis’s hotel. From now on, we’re brother and sister, so don’t act too distant or too involved. If something goes wrong and someone else is in the room say ‘Vatican cameos’. This will mean that someone is about to die. Before we go, do you have questions ?”

“Yes, what is your course of action after we get to the hotel ?”

“Not sure yet. I’ll have to see it for my own eyes but we need to access his room without losing him. Which means we’re going to get separated. I’m going to inspect the room while he is gone, and you will follow him from a distance. He’ll probably be accompanied by one or two men assuring his security so you’ll have to be careful not to get caught. He might take a car so you’ll have to follow him in a cab. I’ll text you when I’m out of the room and you’ll tell me where you are so that I can join you later.”

Joanna didn’t like the idea of getting separated from each other so early in the mission but she understood that they didn’t really have a choice. Sigerson knew what he would be searching for in the hotel room and losing Trefusis was not an option. She was just glad she had a weapon in her bag. She took a few bank notes from the envelope and put them in her pocket along with the phone. Five minutes later, they were walking down the street towards Pigalle. Their mission had just begun.

****

Back in London, Anthea is busy scoring a new high score at Tetris when she gets an email from the Czech intelligentsia. Apparently they had found the last cache of Trefusis just outside of Prague. Its contents were extremely interesting. Two men had been hung upside down from a hook, both naked and missing their genitals. On the wall, a note had been written in blood : “ We know where you live”.

She congratulates herself on thinking to set the automatic recording for tonight’s America’s Next Top Model. She was probably about to get sent to Prague.


	4. Women with guns and precarious positions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I want to apologize to you all for updating so late, but everything has been frantic since july and this chapter has given me night terrors, not wanting to write itself as I wanted it. I hope you will find it to your liking.
> 
> Second, the next chapter is in the works, so crossed fingers ;)
> 
> And as ever, Oleanderhoney is my wonderful beta. Thank you.

Three : Women with guns and precarious positions

 

“The battlefield is a scene of constant chaos. The winner will be the one who controls that chaos, both his own and the enemies.”

Napoleon Bonaparte

 

Anthea arrives in Prague a few hours after Mr. Holmes (she tries not to call him Mycroft, even mentally. She is very professional like that. Except when she isn’t, but that’s not the topic right now) received dual information about Trefusis’s cache in Prague from her as well as another operative based in Prague. The matter worries him. He was aware of Trefusis’s enemies but none of them ever displayed a penchant for playing with their food. Any of his enemies would have killed him directly and disappeared the body. This was a bit too elaborate; someone was sending a message and he’d like to know who and why. Naturally, he couldn’t rely on another spy agency to do the job properly, or even pass on the information, and his operatives on location were already busy with other pressing matters.Anthea was willing to go even though he wasn’t very keen on sending her away when he might need her with the next Korean elections, however, something wasn’t right with the whole affair, and Anthea was the best.

Upon arriving at the airport, Anthea checks her make-up and the directives of the mission in the ladies before heading out to the parking garage. She enters the address of thewarehouse where Trefusis was hiding into the GPS, and informs the high-ups that she will be on location in less than an hour. Once there, she hides the car in the woods a few hundred ~~s of~~  feet from the warehouse. She notes the relative closeness to a private airfield, which is probably how he left the country in the first place.

She easily finds her way inside. The seemingly abandoned warehouse has been converted into a very nice loft, with two bedrooms and a spacious living room/kitchen. The bathroom was Spartan, but overall she could see how the drug lord had been able to keep a low profile all these years. No one would come and search for him in the middle of the Czech countryside.

She makes her way to the master bedroom where the corpses had been found. The autopsy report hadn’t been very helpful; the men had been shot in the neck before being stripped and castrated. Someone wanted to make show of their abilities. She wasn’t sure how they pulled it off, hanging these bodies from the hooks when Trefusis and his security rarely left the warehouse, but she could guess that they would need a certain motivation. Mr. Holmes was right to be worried. This wasn’t the work of some small time thug Trefusis might have ripped off a few years back. Something bigger was going on, and the sound of metal outside the bedroom might be a clue to whom was behind all of this. Her gun aiming at the door, she clicks off the safety while listening to the steps approaching her position.

***

As predicted, Sherlock gets separated from his fake sister, Alana, when Trefusis finally comes out of the hotel after a two-hour wait in a small café.  They didn’t really talk while sitting at the terrace, just a few banalities on Montmartre and what they should see next. Just enough chatter to maintain their cover. When he leaves, they get up, pay the bill, and go their separate ways. Before going into the hotel, he throws a last glance at Alana, hoping she can carry out the directivewithout him.

There is no one at the reception desk, which allows him to check the latest arrivals into the server and easily find Trefusis under the assumed name of Smith (seriously, it’s like he is not even trying to be discreet…). The room is on the second floor, just near the fire escape and far from the elevator, a common technique used by most  ~~of the~~  security services. He puts his ear against the door and hearing nothing, tries to knock.

 After a few seconds, he decides that no one is inside and gets his set of lock picks out of his pocket. The lock gives in after less than ten seconds, (small hotels are not very big on security, especially when you can rent a room by the hour) and closes the door behind him. A chair faces the door at the other side of the room, probably where one of Trefusis’s men sits when he is sleeping. He searches through the drawers, careful not to disrupt anything so that no one will take note of his passage, and looks below the beds where he finds a suitcase that is not even locked.

There, Sherlock finds some fake IDs under several names, some recreational drugs that he dismisses, and an envelope with several letters inside that he reads:

_Leo,_

_Everything is alright on our end. Jenna is about to enter that art school at the museum. You should see her, it’s like she’s won the lottery or something. She asked about you the other day and we went to Cee’s grave and put some flowers._

_Jimmy_

 

_Leo,_

_Perhaps it’s nothing but J. said she saw someone following her the other day. And yesterday, I thought I saw someone too. I asked around, and my contacts say it’s not the police or Interpol._

_I’ll keep you informed if anything happens. I’ve asked some guys to watch Jenna from afar for a few days._

_Jimmy_

 

_Leo,_

_Don’t know when you’re going to read this, but when_ _you do, you have to come to Paris immediately. Jenna is in danger, don’t know who or how they found out about her, but she received a letter with a skull and a note saying : “I know where you live”. A few days later, some genitals came through in a package with the same skull on a calling card._

_Fuck man, what have you done ? I thought you’d been laying low and now the poor girl is losing her mind. I couldn’t stop her from going to the cops, and I don’t know what will come from it._

_I don’t know where you are. They told me you left Prague in a hurry. What happened ? Anyway, come here and we will devise a plan for you and Jenna. It doesn’t have to end like the last time._

So, Trefusis was being threatened through another person. And Jimmy was definitely watching out for Jenna and keeping Trefusis informed. A relative maybe ? The files never mentioned a younger female related to Trefusis, but then it wouldn’t be the first time the MI-6 had missed something. They had to find Jimmy and find out what he knew. He’d just have to convince Alana not to babble everything to Mycroft just yet. Something important was going to happen, and he could not  ~~just~~ return to London without finding out what it was. And he still had some questions for Trefusis about the overdoses in London.

His phone chirps and it’s a text from Alana.

****

Joanna, as much as she agrees with her fake brother, cannot shake the feeling that getting separated from him so early into the mission is a bad idea. They barely know anything about one another - even if Sigerson seems to have an eye for details - and they don’t have a clue about what the other might be capable of. After all, they were not exactly prepared for this.

From what she gleaned of their conversations and his behavior, Sigerson didn’t possess any military training. She wasn’t even sure he could shoot straight.  There had been only one gun in the suitcase and he gave it to her without any hesitation as to whom the responsibility of using it would befall to.

It angers her to think that her country was ready to send a couple of amateurs to chase after a dangerous criminal. She knows she probably doesn’t have all of the cards in hand to really understand the game at play, but she can’t help it. She worries for her obnoxious partner’s safety, and how they will carry the mission to a satisfying term if one of them ends up injured or worse. Add the fact that the man in the suit insisting on her keeping an eye on Sigerson doesn’t help either. Was he more fragile than he let on, or just too valuable to be left to his own devices ? She has too many questions that need to be answered.

She curses her thirst for adrenaline which had clouded her judgment, and led her into this situation. But as far as she could tell, she trusts Sigerson. Yes, he seems a bit too reckless for his own good, but then so was she. And there was something about him… Joanna doesn’t have the time to finish that thought, seeing as how her target is finally exiting the wagon.

She had been following Trefusis for twenty minutes in the metro, when he finally arrives at the station of the Musée du Louvre. He enters the northern aisle of the former royal palace using an unguarded entrance, and makes his way down the stairs.

“He seems to know the building well enough to know how to get in without being seen. Or maybe he’s paying someone to look the other way. Sigerson seemed to believe he was well-connected.”

At that thought she remembers to text him her current location, and after assuring herself no one is looking, she follows the drug dealer into the building. She goes to take her gun out of the bag, and hesitates. She knows it’s in her best interest to keep her cover. She needed plausible deniability if she was found out. Also she did not think she had been seen by Trefusis or one of his men when they were in the French underground.

The stairs lead to a long corridor, dusty and badly lit, before leading to another door, which fortunately, opens without a key. Carefully, she turns handle, opening the door just a few inches, making sure no one was behind it. When she is relatively certain that everything is safe, she quickly steps inside and finds herself inside a lecture hall. She realises that she did not break into the museum per say, but into the art school belonging to it.

“What is Trefusis doing in an art school ?”

Before she can even start forming an opinion on the matter, the door at the top of the stairs opens, and Joanna quickly ducks behind a pillar, her hand reaching for her gun.

Not risking to get seen by the other persons in the room, she fights an impulse to quickly take a look at the intruders - if she can even call them that - flattening herself against the pillar, her hand fiercely gripped around her weapon. She tries to even her breath, the sound of her own heart almost deafening her. Soon, French voices can be heard:

__ This is not an option, Nicolas, we cannot just change the curriculum of a class just two weeks before the start of the school year. Do you not understand the work it would take to update all of our classes, just to make sure we don’t confuse the students – or ourselves, for that matter- and have an intelligible lecture to give every week ? I’m sorry, but I refuse to vote on your_ _side of this matter. And the board will agree with me._

__ But it’s not just about a change of curriculum, or books to read. It’s the whole class that is wrong. We are teaching them about art, and all these lectures seem to give is a third degree look on the Renaissance style. I want them to feel it, experience the sumptuousness of the act of painting. I don’t want them to fall asleep in front of dusty books written by even dustier scholars. Please, Isabelle, I need you on this. The board will never take me seriously if I do not have the support of at least one senior professor._

Concealed from their view, Joanna can make out their conversation more easily than she thought. In a brief moment of indulgence, she even congratulates herself for understanding everything that was being said, even after so many months out of practice. The young man seems desperate, and even though the older woman seems fond of him, she can already tell it was a lost cause.

__ I am sorry but my decision is final. We are training young minds to be knowledgeable about art, not to become artists themselves. If this is what you want, then maybe you should try and apply to the Beaux-Arts. I would be more than happy to give you a glorious recommendation and so would Monsieur Darneaux. Why don’t you-_

The rest of the sentence is cut short by shots resonating in the hallway, shortly followed by hurried steps and the scream of a woman. Joanna conceals her gun under her shirt and into her jeans, conscious that if she were to be found with a gun in her hand by the police, all would be over and unpleasant questions would be asked. Running towards the stairs leading to the top of the lecture hall, in front of a pair of horrified teachers, Joanna presses herself against the door, opening it only a little to peek into the corridor. On the ground in front of her is a young woman crying, her hands covered in blood. And just below her, cradled in her arms, is Trefusis. He had several bullets lodged in his heart and one in his brain.

 


	5. Identities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know it's been months, and I apologize for those who've been reading the story. I'll try to finish writing that one during the course of the summer.
> 
> This chapter is unbeta'ed.
> 
> Love, Callie

_"Invention, it must be humbly admitted, does not consist in createing out of void, but out of chaos."_  Mary Shelley

 

 

Joanna has to act quickly. She only has seconds before the security arrives, along with the police. If they find her with a gun, she’s going to be in serious trouble. On the floor, the girl is crying and shaking, softly calling to her father. She hides her gun in the bag as she hears the two professors joining her.

 _“Oh god, Jenna!_ ” Isabelle, the professor, goes to her student and takes her away from the body. Nicolas takes his phone out to call the police. He asks as he waits for the emergency service to answer: “ _Who are you, what are you doing here?_ ”

Joanna says the first thing that comes to her mind: “ _I’m with Interpol. I need to see the body._ ”

She inspects the body for vital signs but she had known as soon as she saw him, the man hadn’t stood a chance. Isabelle addresses her. _“Do you know who did this?_ ” Joanna shakes her head. _“I’m sorry, I cannot say. The girl needs medical attention. Someone needs to stay with her.”_ She turns to Jenna. _“Darling, did you see anyone else in the corridor?”_

Jenna nods the affirmative _. “Three men. They went this way.”_ She raises her finger towards the left. _“They all had guns_.”

Joanna goes towards the direction Jenna indicated. Nicolas speaks _“Don’t you need to wait for back-up? What are you going to do with a gun in one hand and your cane in the other?”_

Joanna looks at her cane in her hand, surprised. She had almost forgotten about her injury.

 _“I can’t wait for someone else to be injured, and I can manage. You need to stay with her, tell the police what you saw, I’ll be back before you know it_.” Joanna leaves them before they can argue. On the floor, she notices blood stains, getting closer and closer. She takes out her gun and opens the bathroom door where the blood seems to lead. On the floor, she finds two other men, Trefusis’s bodyguards. One of them is either unconscious or dead, the other is bleeding out from his stomach but still conscious. She goes to him.

 _“Tell me what happened, help is on the way.”_ She puts his hand on the wound to apply pressure and try to slow the bleeding. The man’s ragged breath tells her he is not going to last much longer.

 _“He was… waiting… for us. He said… we… debt…t’pay._ ” She doesn’t have time to ask more questions as she hears footsteps approaching rapidly. She needs to get out of here. “ _Continue to apply pressure if you want to live._ ”

She runs out of the bathroom, feeling a pang of guilt as she leaves a man on the verge of death behind her. The sole knowledge of his probable implication in a drug cartel does not relieve her completely of her concern for his life. She guesses it won’t be the last time she’ll be put in this position if she goes on with MI6.

She gets out of the museum in extremis, before the police and the security get there. Her main problem now is to find Sigerson. She limps toward the Comédie Française, her phantom pain coming back with a vengeance after the sprint she pulled, and goes through the arcades adjacent to the theatre and towards the Palace’s gardens where she texts Sigerson to come and join her there. She sits on one of the benches under the trees, trying to catch her breath. Her hands are in her pockets, still bloody from the museum. She feels the adrenaline, coming down from its rush and a comfortable drowsiness enveloping her. But she tries to stay alert nonetheless, until her partner arrives.

She worries about having been spot by one of the CCTV outside the museum. The school didn’t have any type of security apart from the one guard at the main entrance that she had avoided by following Trefusis through the service entrance but she knew the professors and Jenna would be able to make a robot portrait of her, especially with such a detail as her handicap. But even though she thought she might not be cut out for the life of a spy, she could not regret her decision to accept the job. She preferred to be in Paris, chasing after criminals rather than in her lifeless state-issued flat, cleaning her gun to the bone.

Someone sits next to her while she is still deep in thoughts and it’s Sigerson, looking at her, worried.

“What happened to you? Is your leg hurting you? Why do you have blood on your sleeve?”

Shit, she hadn’t noticed the bloodstain on her sleeve. She buries her hands deeper in her pockets.

“Trefusis is dead, he got shot in the head and the chest. He died instantly. His security detail is either dead or getting surgery at the nearest hospital. I didn’t see who shot them, but it seems like it was a one man job. One of the bodyguards talkedaboutadebttheyhadtopay. Idon’t knowwhathemeantbythat.Also, Trefusishasa daughter.”

“Hm... well, that was to be expected.”

Joanna looks at him as if he’d just grown a second head in front of her. “That was to be _expected_? That’s all you have to say? I almost got arrested out there, I had to lie and say I was an Interpol agent and then I had to abandon a man bleeding out to death. And all you’re saying is that you’re not surprised?”

Guilt creeps up in him unexpectedly but he doesn’t let it show. She should have known for what she had signed up for.

“Yes, well, we’ll have to call our handler and tell them to cover up that Interpol story you made up but apart from that, I don’t see what could have been avoided. This is not Afghanistan, Alana. We aren’t here to save lives or prevent bad things. We’re here to recover intel and understand why Trefusis was threatened. And possibly understand his connection to a series of unsolved murders in the UK, but that’s it. Didn’t Mycroft explain anything to you?”

Joanna wants to tell him where he can shove up his intel, only to remember that this is not the time nor the place to blame anyone. Instead she asks:

“Who’s Mycroft?”

“The man who gave you your assignment.”

So the man in the suit had a name. And Sigerson knew him well.

“No, he just said what I told you on the train. That and the fact that I was supposed to keep an eye on you so that you didn’t get into trouble. But I seem to have problems with that directive myself.”

Sherlock chuckles.

“Typical. What our handler hasn’t told you is that Trefusis’s merchandise has been linked to several suspicious deaths but nothing ever came from the investigations that were led at the time. Especially since we couldn’t find the man and interrogate him. I guess I’ll have to find another way to solve these ones.”

He gets up. “Come. We have to go back to the hotel, clean you up and call Mycroft.” He starts to walk ahead. Joanna grabs her walking stick and catches up to him. “And after that?”

“After, we find Trefusis’s killer.”

xxxxx

Anthea waits by the door, ready to point her gun at the head of the intruder as soon as he or he comes in. She knows the Prague police has no more business here and that no one else knows about Trefusis’s hideout. The door finally opens and Anthea pulls off the safety of her gun. The man stops dead in his tracks. He is tall, of athletic build and definitely carrying.

“Dobrý den*. I advise you not to reach for your gun if you don’t want to add to the already existing bloodshed. Who are you?”

The green eyed man raises his hands and slowly turns to face her. “If you search my inner breast pocket, you’ll find some credentials. If you care to retrieve them, of course. Are you MI6? That’s a nice Walther P99 you have there.”

Anthea looks at him and silently assesses him. He has at least ten years of experience in some armed services, European, probably French. So Interpol or French secret services. Two organizations Mr. Holmes does not trust for several, logical reasons. The first one being that they are not British and therefore too close to the Germans and the Russians. His blond hair which had been dyed several times over suggests infiltrations and deep cover operations more than coquetry.

“Why don’t you reach out for them?” she asks coolly. He chuckles and she hears a “fair enough” as he proceeds to slowly take out his ID. The credentials are Interpol issued. His name, according to them, is Lieutenant Matthieu Vuillemin and works for the Contraband Division. He is a bit late to the party. Time for some damage control.

“This is a British investigation. Trefusis is a subject of the British Crown and the Czech authorities gave us full access. The Contraband Division has no business here, unless you have time to chase after long retired drug dealers, which I highly doubt.”

She throws him back his ID and shows him hers. “DCI Catherine Langford, New Scotland Yard.” She smiles inwardly, it’s one of her favorite personas: the brilliant but undermined cop, cast aside by her male colleagues and superiors, as eager to climb the professional ladder as she is to earn the respect of said male coworkers. A woman damaged but not broken. She did always love to read bad romance thrillers. Especially when so many men are ready to play the knight in shining armor.

“My superiors were not informed that Interpol was interested in Trefusis.” Mycroft wasn’t going to be pleased. After pulling the safety on, she tucks her weapon back in her jeans, under her vest. The man visibly relaxes.

“So not MI6, eh? And officially, we’re not interested. Unofficially, we’re just curious. So they sent me.”

Anthea feels that there is something more to the story. “Why did they send you ?”

He smiles “Oh, you’re good. My first infiltration was in Trefusis ’ network until the guy disappeared suddenly. No one could explain why he bailed form the business or knew where he went. In truth, we thought he was dead.”

Interesting. The lieutenant’s knowledge of Trefusis’s former affairs could still be exploitable, if only he did not feel the need to lie about his lack of information on the drug dealer’s disappearance. She knew he wouldn’t tell her anything if she asked directly. She’d have to get a hand on Interpol’s dossier on Trefusis. Perhaps Lieutenant Vuillemin even has some notes on the dossier with him in Prague. She’d have to pay his hotel room a visit.

He takes a step closer, looking appreciatively at her. “So, maybe you could tell me a bit more about the British police’s interest into Trefusis’s resurface. He clearly hasn’t been back on the British Isles for more than a decade. You could have easily let the Czech police handle this side of the investigation while you searched for him. You know he is in France, right?” He strokes her arm.

Anthea doesn’t move from her position, even though the man was clearly after something more than information. She weighted whether or not she should sleep with him. It would give her the opportunity to access his hotel room and maybe gather more intel on Trefusis but she ultimately decided against it. First, she probably knew more about Trefusis than him at this point of the investigation, which meant he had more to gain from a hypothetical relationship than her. Second, it went against Catherine Langford’s character who probably had her fair share of lousy flirtatious remarks at work. And third, a man who wore so much cologne was simply that unattractive to her. She would do a lot for Queen and Country but even she, had principles.

As for his hotel room, well, she just lifted his keys from his pockets. How’s that for Queen and Country?

She takes a step back. “I’m sorry, but you will understand that until my superiors give me permission to share information, I cannot divulge any sensitive data from an ongoing investigation. Please refer to my superiors if you need anything more. Good day to you, lieutenant.”

She leaves the room before he has the time to register what she just said and quickly takes her leave from the premises. She slashes one of his tires on the way to her car, so as to leave her some time to go through his hotel room while he figures a way to get back to town.

She hears his outraged cry as she starts the engine. She laughs.

“Amateur.”

 

The dialogs in italics are in French. I figured that the bodyguards would also speak it.

(*)”Dobrý den” means “hello” in Czech.


End file.
